


The crane takes flight

by Demi_caffeinated



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bard Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, Witcher Jaskier | Dandelion, reverse au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:15:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 19,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23375986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demi_caffeinated/pseuds/Demi_caffeinated
Summary: Jaskier wasn't planning to have company. It's not his fault that he's not used to positive attention; let alone that of a socially stunted bard.And really what is up withthat?((This is my take on a reverse au.Not sure what the update schedule will look like because this is highly impulsive but likely at least once a week if not more.Lore is hand picked and likely made up on the spot to fit so be prepared for that lol))
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 40
Kudos: 181





	1. Unlikely meetings

Jaskier isn’t unobservant; he can see how uneasy his presence has made the tavern folk. They keep glancing at him nervously and he wishes he’d just left his blades in the room, except that being without them made his skin itch. 

Overall, it’s an uncomfortable experience that has him speeding through his mediocre bowl of stew. 

He almost chokes at the noise of the bard starting their set. 

Shakily he drinks some of his ale to stop the scratchy irritated feeling left in his throat; he’s not sure what would happen if he had started coughing and he’d rather not find out. Jaskier does not need any more attention; thank you. 

Still he finds himself quietly drawn to the new sound. The bard is obviously new to playing taverns as shown by how his voice wavers on certain notes. He’s not bad though, possibly classically trained. His baritones are quite nice when he isn’t second guessing it, even if his songs don’t match up to the source material. 

Jaskier finds himself slowing down to stick around and listen even if the rest of the patrons don’t appreciate the performance. 

Eventually he’s left with just his ale, but it seems the bard is winding down as well; not by choice but it was hard not to when the crowd was protesting so vehemently. He can’t help himself and leans out to glimpse at the performer. 

He’s a little taken a back. Most bards he’s encountered deck out in the flashiest colors and designs they can find, but this man is dressed modestly. It’s in bardic fashion, just more tamed down and grey interestingly enough. 

That’s not what stays with Jaskier though; it’s his eyes. They are a gleaming yellow gold even when he looks discouraged by the...bread? 

He hums amused and goes back to his half-finished ale. 

A few moments go by and he’s surprised to find the bard approaching and sliding into the other side of the booth. 

“Hello,” Jaskier greets intrigued and not wanting to be rude. 

The bard nods in response, seemingly thinking about something. 

Jaskier’s a bit miffed. What sort of bard comes across so coldly to someone they walked up to? He gets that he’s a Witcher but does that really change anything when _he_ came up to _him?_

The bard stares at Jaskier’s medallion which unnerves him a bit. Jaskier downs the last of his ale in one uncomfortable gulp. 

“You’re a Witcher,” he states. 

Jaskier reaches up to touch his medallion and quietly tucks it away as if that would hide his identity any-as if the twin blades weren’t a greater tell. The bard continues to stare and Jaskier sighs before saying, “I prefer to be called Jaskier, but yes, I am a Witcher.” 

He can already feel the eyes of the patrons returning to him, especially now that he has the bard across from him. The man looks like he still has more to say so Jaskier stays even though he really just wants to retreat back to his room. 

“Are you going to tell me your name?” Jaskier prompts a little impatient and on edge. 

The bard looks genuinely surprised as he answers, “Geralt.” 

“Geralt,” Jaskier hums, testing the name out. “What brings you over here then?” 

Geralt looks uncomfortable and avoids his eyes, “I’d like to join you.” 

“Join me?” Jaskier blinks stunned. 

“For inspiration,” he clarifies unhelpfully. 

“You know what I do, don’t you?” Jaskier asks incredulous. 

People don’t just hang out with Witchers, that’s not how things work. And the way that he avoided Jaskier’s eyes—as if he didn’t know how unnaturally blue they were—was just putting up a lot of red flags. 

“I can handle myself,” Geralt says making eye contact with him for more than a few seconds. 

Jaskier chuckles a bit despite himself. 

He can _handle_ himself, wasn’t that a treat. So many Witchers thought they could ‘handle themselves’ and look where they ended up. 

“Do you really think you can hold your own against a monster?” Jaskier asks raising his brow. “Do you really think you can hold your own against _me?”_

Geralt frowns contemplatively but doesn’t answer. 

“I have a horse and can set up camp,” he offers instead. 

Jaskier sighs but nods. He doesn’t have a horse of his own and that would take off a good portion of the workload from him. As much as he hates to give in, he also isn’t surprised at how little convincing he needed. 

“We leave at sunrise,” he tells Geralt and gets up; he can’t stand the stench of fear and judgement anymore. 

Geralt follows him back to his room further confusing Jaskier. He turns curiously when he gets to his room, holding the key in his pocket still. 

“Would you like to come in?” Jaskier asks sarcastically. 

There's a nod and unable to further process it, Jaskier decides to let him in. 

There’s a tub of cold water from earlier and Jaskier is tempted to get back in and heat it with igni. The only reason he holds back is because Geralt is standing awkwardly, just looking around at all of Jaskier’s things strewn about the room. 

“Please just sit,” Jaskier pleads unnerved to have an unpaid guest in his room, especially since he can’t detect a hint of fear from Geralt. 

Unease definitely but it’s not nearly as acrid or rank as fear, it’s unsettling. 

Geralt perches on the edge of the bed and Jaskier flops back behind him staring up at the ceiling. 

“You don’t have any armor?” Geralt says but it sounds more like a question. 

Jaskier glances over and pulls his medallion off, holding it out to him as an explanation. 

“School of the Crane,” Geralt scrutinizes it, looking as confused as he had originally. 

Jaskier hums amused and puts it back on, “I’m not one for unnecessary weight.” 

“Unnecessary?” 

“How do you feel about the coast?” he grins at Geralt’s bewilderment, disregarding the question. 

Most of his jobs were sea monsters, the only reason he’d come this far inland was because he’d been sought after specifically to deal with a harpy. Armor just restricted and was more of a hindrance when bogged down by water. 

“I can’t say I’ve been much,” Geralt replies. 

“You’re in luck then because there’s not a much better guide than a Crane,” Jaskier sits up and friendly punches Geralt’s shoulder before looking at the tub again. “Do you mind?” 

“Go ahead, it’s your room,” Geralt shrugs only looking a little disgruntled. 

Jaskier shamelessly unbuttons and methodically discards his clothes before sinking into the murky cold water. He closes his eyes and tips his head back. Cold water was a big part of his job and one got used to it quickly when freezing up was risking death. 

A lazy hand sign and the water was steaming pleasantly. 

Just because he could deal with cold water didn’t mean he liked to relax in it. Jaskier was drawn to water like moth to a flame and being able to indulge himself was already doing wonders for his frayed nerves. 

“Do you mind if I bring my saddle bags in?” 

Jaskier opens one eye, down scaling his shock at the request, “Go ahead.” 

He was waiting for Geralt to leave but it seemed that he had other plans. Jaskier couldn’t help but be pleased with the company; he hadn’t liked being alone, but it was part of being a Witcher. Geralt’s peculiar smell was also enticing, he enjoyed having someone who didn’t look they wanted to bolt at the first available moment. 

Admittedly his sense of smell wasn’t nearly as heightened as those of Witchers from other schools, but it was enough to pick up whiffs when he was close enough. Fear was just the easiest to pick up because it was so common, and the sharp bitter lemon tang was hard to mistake. 

Geralt smells like lavender and citrus. The citrus much more subdued as time had passed but even then, it hadn’t been an irritating smell—just mild discomfort. Jaskier would never admit it but he hated that people were afraid of him; it kept him from towns even if he had the coin to comfortably afford a room. 

Jaskier is half-heartedly dragging the soap over his chest when Geralt comes back with a couple bags. He can see that he’s more prepared for long term camping than he is and Jaskier sees the usefulness of having a companion, even if he knows it won’t last. 

He placates himself with the knowledge that Geralt will be out of harm's way on shore. As long as he doesn’t take on any risky aerial jobs than there wasn’t much that could happen.

Geralt frowns at him and Jaskier pauses his lazy cleaning. 

“That’s not going to help anything,” he says sternly. 

“What do you recommend then?” Jaskier hums amused. 

He wasn’t really doing this to get clean. It was more of an excuse to stay in the tub longer and not seem weird. 

Geralt rolls his eyes and goes to look over the provided oils and salts. Jaskier waits and can’t deny that he might be holding his breath. No one had ever prepared a bath for him... not that Geralt really was, but the thought was there. 

He tosses in a handful of what smells like rosemary salts and tips in a few drops of mint. 

Jaskier stirs it into the water pleased, even if the mint overpowers and makes his nose itch. 

Thinking that was it, he sinks further into water and closes his eyes. 

“Tip your head forward,” Geralt orders from behind him. 

Jaskier obeys wordlessly and is shocked when he tips a bucket of cold water over his head. He sputters a bit and looks at Geralt betrayed; although he’s not sure what he expected from a request like that. 

Geralt doesn’t say anything, just grabs the soap and lathers some between his hands before reaching out for Jaskier’s hair. 

For all he’s worth Jaskier is just proud that he didn’t flip out at the contact. No one willingly did this for him and he’d grown used to that. Then in walks a _bard_ of all people and inserts himself into his room, fixes his bath, and washes his hair. 

“It’s knotted,” he says as if that at all explains this for Jaskier who is absolutely reeling. 

If he leans into a little more than he should then Geralt doesn’t mention it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First work for them and I'm impulsively posting this so I'll have something to do later; that said feel free to tell me your thoughts! :)


	2. Forest meadows and a rabbit

The next day, true to Jaskier’s words they are up bright and early, rising with the sun. 

Geralt seems to be more of a morning person than he is; but he can’t be too sure considering that he hides his emotions like a brick wall and was already up when Jaskier was waking. 

Jaskier yawns and pulls on a shirt. He’s tempted to just crawl back into bed but that seems rude considering that Geralt had set himself up on the floor last night. 

“Here,” Geralt holds out an apple. 

Jaskier accepts it happily and bites into it, feeling a bit like someone's livestock with how it played out. That feeling only heightens when he treats his _actual_ horse in the same manner... 

Only she gets a nicer apple, Jaskier notes a little sulkily. 

He feeds her his leftover apple core regardless of his feelings—even if it makes Geralt stiffens up when he gets closer to her. Jaskier isn’t going to begrudge a horse over who her owner clearly prefers. 

Geralt fastens all his bags onto her and then after a moment offers out his hands for Jaskier’s admittedly few belongings. A big part of why Jaskier allowed Geralt to stay with him in his room was because anything worth stealing was kept on or near him at all times. It was risky to try and steal from a Witcher but that didn't always stop people from trying some days. 

Jaskier is given a piece of mostly stale bread from Geralt as they start walking and he can’t help but look at it amused. He’s well aware of how this was procured; but food is food he supposes and bites into it. 

Food tastes better when he doesn’t have to pay or catch it on his own. 

“Thanks,” Jaskier says after he swallows. He’s not used to this and it’s glaringly obvious to him with his stilted delivery. 

Geralt grunts as he readjusts so that his horse is now between them, leading her on foot for the time being. 

Jaskier sighs and isn’t sure what to take from _that._

“So, what’s her name?” he asks trying to start a conversation of some kind to take away from how awkward he feels. 

“Roach,” Geralt says gruffly, not leaving much to work from. Jaskier is starting to understand how he could be booed off a tavern floor so easily. The man could sing but he was clearly not a conversationalist. 

They walk in silence for most of the day, taking breaks for meals and to let Roach drink from the river he's been following every so often. Jaskier finds himself growing accustomed to this change of pace faster than he’d like. Typically, he’d walk until either his feet ached too badly or his stomach was painfully empty. 

Arguably this was a healthy change for the long run even if they aren’t keeping his usual pace. 

Jaskier is tempted to completely bypass the next village to get to the coast sooner but is well aware his pockets will only suffer in the long run if he does. Coin is hard to come by and even harder to hang onto in his line of work and if he wants to justify luxuries like baths and new boots then he needs to take all the jobs he can come by. 

“Turn here,” he tells Geralt, putting his hand on Roach to ease her in the direction. Geralt stares at his hand until Jaskier finally drops it back to his side. It would seem the horse was a touchy subject... Looks like he won’t be able to convince Geralt to let him ride her after all. “We’re going to have to stop in Rinde.” 

“Rinde?” Geralt looks over curiously. 

Jaskier swears he could beam, conversations were like pulling teeth and he wasn’t even trying this time! 

“I need to make some more coin and we should probably pick up more supplies for the journey,” Jaskier happily elaborates. “Novigrad is a long way from Casterfurt after all.” 

Geralt hums in response and Jaskier wants to bash his head against a tree. 

“We’ll likely stop in Oxenfurt along the way as well,” he adds trying to bait something more from Geralt. Most bards were thrilled at even the mention but Geralt barely batted an eye; Jaskier pouts and accepts his defeat, kicking pebbles out of his path. 

When they’re leaving their next stop, Geralt climbs up onto Roach and pulls out his lute. He doesn’t sing but he plays strings of chords, occasionally stopping to write them down in a small notebook he keeps tucked in his doublet. It's a little unfair how easy he makes the whole thing look, playing and keeping balanced can't be easy work.

He’d never admit it but he’s immensely thankful for the noise. Jaskier doesn’t travel with companions but in every daydream he had where he _did,_ there was always lots of talking. 

Jaskier keeps quiet because he’s scared Geralt would stop composing if he said anything. 

Even the occasional screeching misplayed notes are welcomed to Jaskier’s ears. The silence had just been borderline torturous to endure in comparison. 

Geralt plays for hours and Jaskier walks contently beside Roach. The sun's going down and he has a feeling Geralt will stop when there’s not any more light to write by. Regretfully he knows he’ll need to say something about setting up camp for the night soon. 

That doesn’t stop him from greedily letting him play for another few minutes, just soaking up the sounds. 

“Geralt,” he says already wanting to take the word back. 

He’s stopped playing and looks at Jaskier expectantly. 

“We should stop for the night and set up camp,” he finishes mournfully, not even trying to hide it in his tone. 

“Are you _sad?”_ Geralt squints at him frowning as if he’s trying to work out a particularly difficult puzzle. 

Jaskier pauses and curses that of all the things, Geralt wanted to talk about that. “I’m just a bit disappointed is all.” 

“Hm...” Geralt’s frown deepens and he puts his lute away. “I won’t play anymore then.” 

“No!” Jaskier bursts not even thinking about it. “I mean, _uh..._ I don’t mind if you keep playing.” He’s considering bashing his head into a tree again; he’d rather get swallowed by a kikimora than deal with the silence again so it doesn't seem dramatic. If he has to make a fool of himself for that to happen, he’ll do it. 

Geralt’s eyes are wide with surprise but he nods. His hand brushes over his lute subconsciously but he doesn’t take it out again. 

“Do you like it?” he asks hesitantly after a while. 

Jaskier almost jumps out of his skin but doesn’t need more explanation to know what Geralt is referring to. “You’re quite talented,” he admits, not expecting Geralt to have said anything more. 

Geralt smiles softly but doesn’t say anything. 

“We’ll stop here,” Jaskier decides solely on the large tree coverage overhead. The sky has been gloomy for days and he doesn't want to get rained out of camp if tonight happens to be when the weather finally turns. 

Geralt dismounts and starts to remove the saddlebags and detack Roach. Jaskier watches awkwardly for a few moments before he can’t take standing around idly. 

“I’m just going to see if I can catch up something for dinner,” he says and doesn’t bother waiting around for Geralt to say anything. 

Jaskier gets a good distance away from camp before he realizes that he should have taken his crossbow with him. All he has on him are his swords belted to his hip and a silver dagger tucked in his boot. He really doesn’t want to do a walk of shame back to retrieve it, so he hunkers down into a bush and takes out the dagger. 

This is going to be a risky affair but he’s too damn prideful to back down. He holds his breath and waits patiently for any sounds of movement in the brush. Jaskier’s about to give up and find a new spot to hide when a rabbit makes its way into the clearing he’s been watching over. 

He adjusts his grip on the dagger, tossing it around a couple times until it settles comfortably in his hand. It’s been a while since he’s done this, and he prays he hasn’t gotten rusty before he releases the dagger hoping it will fly true. 

There’s a piercing wail and Jaskier winces. He missed his mark but had landed the blow. 

“I’m sorry,” he tells the dying rabbit, pulling the dagger free and killing it off quickly. He hadn’t meant for it to suffer and his mood is officially soured. 

At least there should be enough meat here to feed the two of them when supplemented with the last of the bread. Jaskier sighs and wipes his blade clean in the grass before walking back with his meager kill. 

Geralt already has a fire going and is writing studiously in his notebook when Jaskier gets there. He hands off the rabbit and then goes to the stream to sulk. 

The sound of the water calms him, and he washes his hands whiles he’s there. He knows that he shouldn’t be upset over a _rabbit_ of all things; he’d certainly done far worse, but he can’t help himself. That never would have happened if he had just taken his crossbow with him. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt says joining him by the stream sometime later. 

He blinks and gets up quickly ridding himself of his despondent mood. “Is the rabbit cooked then?” Jaskier asks falsely cheerful. 

Geralt looks conflicted but nods. 

“Right, we should eat while it’s warm,” he says heading back to camp and leaving Geralt at the stream. He’s halfway through a hunch when Geralt comes back but he tries not to think about that. 

Eating a warm meal does wonders for his mood and he’s mostly alright when Geralt hands him a chunk of bread. 

“Thank you,” he smiles and this time it isn’t forced. 

“You’re welcome,” Geralt says tearing off some of the rabbit for himself. 

Jaskier feels more of the tension bleed out of him and chews the bread. It’s a relatively bland meal but he thinks it’s one of the best he’s had in a long time. 

He looks out over the camp that he hadn’t bothered to look at properly until now and is touched to see that he took the time to set Jaskier’s bedroll out for him. It wasn’t a big deal, but he knew that not many would show the smallest modicum of kindness to a Witcher. He’s further impressed to note that Geralt has set his own bedroll rather close to his under the protection of the foliage. 

Jaskier shuffles casually as he can manage closer to Geralt, inhaling as subtly as he could. Lavender and... Patchouli? 

He can’t say he has any reference for patchouli but it’s a pleasant smell on Geralt. Jaskier closes his eyes and ponders on it for a while. 

It isn’t until later that he realizes the absence of any citrus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so my notes for this fic have gotten out of hand but in a good way!  
> This could get pretty interesting and I'll admit if you came here looking for a reverse au that still sticks to a canonical story line; this ain't it sis. You probably already picked that up considering they're going to the coast though.
> 
> A lot more time than expected went into planning out how the route would work, mostly because every version of Witcher content seems to use a different map lmao.


	3. Crossing bridges

Jaskier wakes before Geralt; he’s not usually good about keeping a consistent waking up schedule so it’s an interesting development. Admittedly he chooses to use this time to further examine his travel companion without being noticed. 

Geralt’s hair is splayed out artfully over his bedroll. The sunrise reflecting off it makes the light blond look almost silver; it’s quite fetching in all honesty. He averts his eyes away from it and finds the barest hint of a scar under his eyelid that most people probably wouldn’t have even noticed unless it was pointed out to them. 

Jaskier has his fair share of scars but he can’t help but want to know where it came from considering everything else about Geralt seems well-kept and lavish. He’d easily believe he was a noble from the quality of his clothes alone... 

He squints at him and frowns realizing that he doesn’t know much about Geralt at all. Jaskier knows he’s a bard and that he owns a horse he’s fond of but that’s pretty much it. Isn’t that similar to how much Geralt knows about him in return? 

Frowning he throws himself up out of his bedroll. If he continues to lay there he won’t get up at all and will spend the whole day pondering over whatever he was doing here—letting himself get used to the company. 

He works on packing up what he can of camp while he continues to let his thoughts wonder away from him. Just who was Geralt? 

Seemingly fearless of Witchers—Jaskier at least—and willing to accompany him on a hunt. He doubted he’d stick around after one but this whole thing was a bit of a fluke so he’s not sure what to make of it yet. What did Geralt even stand to gain from this? 

He’d mentioned inspiration but for what? A couple songs? 

Was that worth risking his life? 

...Not that Jaskier would let him _actually_ get into the thick of it. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt says, his voice gravelly from sleep. 

He looks over and is amused by how messy Geralt's hair actually is when he’s not sleeping. Before it was artful but now that he's sitting up, it’s just tangles and snarls. 

“Good morning,” Jaskier greets bemused as Geralt stretches and wipes the sleep from his eyes. “Pack up quickly, I want to get to Rinde before lunch.” 

Geralt grumbles a bit but obeys. 

Jaskier has been leading them off of the main road for most of the trip but he can’t avoid it forever considering the river separating them from town. They just so happened to be on the wrong side of it still and there was only one bridge across. Roads had higher chances of encountering people, so he tends to avoid them out of principle. He’s good at hiding his discomfort and Geralt doesn’t pick up on it—at least he thinks so. 

Today Geralt doesn’t play but he does take to rhythmically tapping against the reins in his hands. He had his hair tied back in a simplistic braid that wasn’t well executed from Jaskier’s standards. The steady flow of soft noise didn’t do much to take him away from wanting to reach out and tidy up Geralt’s hair but it did take away from the tension he typically held this close to civilization. 

He is sure that the braiding was a left-over habit from his trial days. It had had a calming effect on him with the added bonus of helping his fellow Witchers stay safer; it made sense at the time. Now it felt like it might be more to it than that, but the memories were too faded to remember properly. Pasts tend not to matter as much when one lives as long as he has; you adapt and learn to let things go. Holding on to things long gone only hurt more than forgetting—can't hurt yourself if you can't remember what happened in the first place. 

He finds out quickly that anyone outside of Witchers did not take kindly to him offering to do their hair. (Most Witchers outside of Cranes that he ran into sneer at the offers now too.) Jaskier couldn’t just ask Geralt to let him do that just because it was mildly distracting, not when he doesn’t want him packing from such a strange unwanted request. He might be fine with traveling together but physical contact was something else. As contradicting as it is, Jaskier really doesn’t want to send Geralt away. 

The Path isn’t a place for humans; they are too easily killed and couldn’t move fast enough to stay protected. Witchers aren’t supposed to get attached either; they all pick that up in their first couple decades of travel when everyone dies and time continues to leave them unchanged—scars aside of course. 

Jaskier just couldn’t help himself though. He likes people, even if they didn’t like him, and it tears him apart to be hated so viciously. Geralt’s aloof interactions are doing wonders for his craving of social interactions and he didn’t even flinch once when Jaskier was looking. He’s positive that wouldn’t last but for now he wasn’t going to purposefully sabotage that for himself. 

It is a bit surprising to find that they were already at the bridge and he’s been spacing out for most of the walk. He glances up and is content to learn they’d made better time than he expected based on the sun's position. 

The moment they cross into town is extremely noticeable to Jaskier. It’s a palpable change in the air and people can’t seem to mind their own business. He can almost pretend its good gossip spreading, except that he’s not blind to the body posture and the way people steer clear of them. 

Even Geralt is looking around nervously; the tapping has stopped. It’s deafeningly loud without it there to fill the tension. 

Jaskier keeps his mask of indifference in place and leads Geralt towards the town’s message board. His only condolence is the sun faded paper tacked in place. He scans over it and sighs. 

It’s always fucking drowners. 

He pockets the job and gets ready to break away and find the alderman for more details. The paper looks to be a couple weeks old max, judging from how the sun wasn’t as bright lately, constricted by the dark clouds. If luck is on his side, he’ll be able to gain a little more for a timely slaughter. 

“Geralt, would you mind securing a room for the night?” Jaskier asks because only one of them _really_ has to put up with this prejudice. He takes out enough to pay for it even if it hurts his coin purse more than he'd like. 

Geralt considers it a moment before excepting the money. “I’ll be over there,” he says much to Jaskier’s amusement. (There were only so many inns in Rinde but it was nice to know.) 

“Get Roach a treat for me,” Jaskier requests hoping that they won’t charge Geralt as much as they would him. He leaves Geralt after that to go deal with squaring away the payment but he swears there might be the hint of a smile there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Rinde scenes were getting out of hand on me, so I'm splitting this up a bit more. (Usually I try to keep chapters around four pages.)   
> Let me know if you'd prefer I don't do this is the future though; that just means it might take a little longer for updates.


	4. Fucking drowners

The alderman offers to triple the payment if he takes care of the problem right away. Jaskier hates to rush into these things but... it’s good money he knows he’ll need. 

As much as he’d like to just head out and leave Geralt safe in town, Roach was carrying supplies he wanted. He spends a good chunk of time just running through the cons of not taking his potions and leaving Geralt (going through the pros of leaving Geralt would just have him running head on into danger without any second thoughts). Sadly, it’s a sizable list that he can’t ignore so he trudges begrudgingly back towards the inn. 

Jaskier finds Geralt tending to Roach in the stables and has to toss out his additional plans of sneaking away unnoticed. He’d been hoping to find a stable boy and by some small chance Roach’s saddlebags still attached. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt nods as he feeds Roach another fresh carrot, scratching behind her ears fondly. 

He perches himself up onto the far fence away from the passing eye and settles in to wait. Jaskier figures he can spare a few minutes while Geralt cares for his horse. 

“I’ll have to finish the job before tomorrow,” he says after a while of just watching. 

“And you didn’t leave?” Geralt asks looking over his shoulder at him as if he’d expected Jaskier to just leave without a word... Which is fair... 

“I couldn’t just leave the bard behind, now could I?” he plays it off, laughing awkwardly. 

Geralt squints at him. 

“...I need my potions,” Jaskier confesses shamefully. 

Geralt hums and points to where he’s left their belongings for the time being, “I’ll be another minute.” 

Jaskier shrugs and goes to shuffle around his things. His hand brushes against Geralt’s lute and he pauses to examine it. There are a couple cracks on the surface, but they don’t look detrimental yet. It’s being dulled from whatever Geralt uses as the varnish being worn away. Overall, it looks well loved. 

His heart pangs and he carefully moves the instrument out of the pile and sets it to the side where it will be safer. Geralt must work hard at his craft to make ends meet. He discreetly glances over at his attire and wonders what happened to cause him to have expensive clothing but a worn lute. 

Jaskier gathers some of the bags in his arms and stands up, “I’ll take these inside; can I have the key?” 

Geralt hands it over without the slightest hesitation and isn’t that a novel concept. He enters the inn, ignores everyone and walks back to where the rooms are clearly marked. It isn’t hard to find the room with the key sharing the label, something that was only now starting to come into more of a common practice. 

He’s about to head out for a second trip and almost bumps into Geralt when he opens the door. Jaskier puts his hand on Geralt’s bicep to help slow his momentum and keep him from falling back from the abrupt stop. 

“Oh, hey Geralt, fancy meeting you here,” he says before he can think about it. He wasn’t expecting Geralt to follow after him and it was still a bit shocking to be sharing a room, especially since Geralt seemed so casual about it. He carrying the rest of the stuff so there's no where for Jaskier to go.

Geralt hums and sidesteps around Jaskier, causing Jaskier’s arm to fall back to his side. He drops everything onto the bed while Jaskier is staring dumbly at his hand. 

There weren’t any hints of citrus to be smelled and Jaskier had _actually_ touched him, not on purpose but still. Geralt hadn’t even reacted to it; it was as if Jaskier was just a regular person to him. He’s smiling as he goes to sort out his gear for the contract. 

“Put on some extra layers,” Jaskier tells Geralt. “Preferably dark colors.” 

He pockets a couple healing and antivenom potions and reluctantly adds one of his special Witcher brews. It’ll make him look monstrous and pale as death, but it would be necessary if things went awry on him. Jaskier prays he won’t need it; no one outside of Witchers have seen him in that state and he’d like to keep it that way. 

It’s gotten later than he’d like and Jaskier knows they’ll be coming back under nightfall but he’s confident that there will still be enough light for Geralt to properly be able to see everything from a distance. 

Geralt’s wearing a nice black coat so Jaskier figures that’s good enough to keep him warm and at least a little more camouflaged. His hair stands out starkly against the contrasting darkness but Jaskier doesn’t say anything about it. 

“We’ll leave by foot,” he tells him. Roach would have been a speedy getaway for Geralt but she was already untacked and settled into rest. Jaskier would just need to make sure Geralt stayed safe and away from everything himself. 

Geralt flicks through his notebook and pockets a rudimentary graphic stick before he follows Jaskier out into the late afternoon. 

It’s deathly silent without Roach clopping beside them, but that’s good. Jaskier needs to focus on every little noise and Geralt seems to have picked up on that considering he hadn’t swung his lute over his shoulder before they’d left the inn. His hand rests over his silver blade; he’d left the steel one in town to cut down on anything that would constrict movement and weigh him down. 

They’re closing in on the bog lands and he’s hyper aware of how close Geralt is. The air reeks of decay and Geralt must be able to smell it fairly well from the occasional grimace he pulls. 

“Stay here,” Jaskier puts a hand over Geralt’s chest. “Don’t get any closer.” He holds Geralt’s gaze sternly until he nods. 

Jaskier quietly draws his blade and calmly walks into the water. The water is still with tension before a flurry of movement erupts from under the surface. Jaskier grunts and slashes at the limbs, ducking and twisting with practiced ease. 

He’s quickly covered in slime and gore and it’s causing his hands to slip on his sword a bit. There are more drowners than he’d expected and he’s nearly overwhelmed when they storm him. His breath is knocked out of him when one gets a successful tackle in. He kicks it away and half-decapitates it, having to forcibly yank the blade out as he does. 

Jaskier growls when one takes a bite at his leg from where he’d knocked it back into the water. It stings but that only pushes him to be faster. He’s not being quick enough with the muck holding him down and the water slowing his movements. 

Most of them are taken care of, he’s confident that he doesn’t need the potion. It would have made this easier in the long run. He’ll have that bite mark as a reminder. 

Rain drips down as he fells the last of them. Jaskier pants and roughly swipes some gore off his cheek. He looks up at the darkened sky disdainfully and then chops a couple heads off as proof. He stomps out not sure if he’s grateful of the rain or not. On one hand it washes the surface grime but on the other hand, he really didn’t want to walk back in the cold. 

Geralt is watching with interest occasionally looking down to scribble down some things in his notebook. True to his word, Geralt hadn’t moved from where Jaskier had told him to stay, even with the rain surely soaking into his pages. Jaskier walks back to him, his boots having to be pulled out of the soft muddy shore with a little extra force. 

“Enough inspiration?” he asks gruffly, worn out from the fight. 

“Plenty for now,” Geralt smiles, stepping back and almost tripping over a rock in the dwindling light. Jaskier hums and motions him to follow him retracing their steps back to Rinde. 

His leg is still panging from the bite and he wants to get back to the inn and call for a bath immediately. He plays around with the idea of taking a potion to fix that but ultimately doesn’t. It’d just be a waste in the long run and he needs to conserve supplies. 

Normally he’d stick around and scavenge the corpses for alchemy supplies but tonight he’s not in the mood to be here longer than needed. The smell of decayed drowned men is stuffing his nose up and while he's grateful that his smell isn't as keen as other Witchers, it's still not enough to keep him around. 

Geralt and the rain have no weight on this decision—none whatsoever. 

There’s humming behind Jaskier and he’s tempted to ask about it. It sounds light and it doesn’t fit what Jaskier feels he’d just gone through, the things he does. He’s seen Witchers take down nests of drowners and it’s never a pretty sight. 

He can easily hear Geralt struggling to avoid tripping in the dark—falling behind—and stops to wait. Jaskier has no problem with seeing in even the darkest rooms; it’s part of his Crane mutations. He couldn’t exactly fight in the depths of the sea if he couldn’t see inches in front of his face down there. 

Geralt’s only human though. 

Jaskier watches in thinly veiled horror as he seems to almost trip over anything in his path with his face pressed close to his notes, still scribbling despite the rain and night. He wipes his hand over his shirt in a weak attempt of ridding the grime and grabs his wrist when Geralt gets close enough to do so. He doesn’t have any free hands now, with the drowner heads in his other hand, but he doubts anything would approach a Witcher covered in gore. 

“What are you....?” Geralt stops mid thought looking thoroughly puzzled and pensive. 

“You’re going to break an ankle walking blind like that,” Jaskier explains awkwardly. “At least wait until we get to the inn.” 

“Doesn’t help I can’t see to start with,” he hums but still tucks his writing utensils into his layers. 

Jaskier too tired to mull through it properly, keeps his grip on Geralt’s wrist. “Just stay behind me; I’ll lead you back.” 

Geralt doesn’t say anything about it when he starts walking, so Jaskier doesn’t either. 

A few moments later and he starts humming again, starting quietly but getting more enthusiastic when Jaskier doesn’t stop him. It’s the most noise he’s heard from Geralt and he’s clearly passionate about his work. Jaskier wonders if he’ll be around to hear him perform it. 

When they get closer to Rinde, he lets go of Geralt reluctantly. He should be able to see with the town still lit up. 

Geralt clears his throat behind him and Jaskier turns to check on him. He’s looking pointedly at the ground, shuffling pebbles as he walks. 

“Thanks,” he says and catches Jaskier’s gaze. 

Jaskier hums and nods a moment too late out of surprise. He’s not really sure what he’s done but it feels... nice to be thanked. “Let’s just see if we can convince the inn keeper to let me have a bath,” he motions over himself. 

Geralt shakes his head and smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My notes for this chapter literally just say "Geralt in one hand, drowner heads in the other."   
> Most of this was written during Zoom classes while I wasn't paying attention; I don't think anything new was taught though so it should be okay.


	5. Warm ale

Jaskier has to make a quick detour to collect his payment. He finds most people pay up quickly when he shows up wearing the evidence of a fight. He knocks on the door multiple times but no one answers. 

By now the grime has started to dry despite the rainfall and he really doesn’t want to spend all night waiting for someone who might not even be home. He pulls the contract from his pocket slides it under the door and drops one of the heads on the doorstep. 

They’ll just have to come back in the morning. 

He’s not concerned about someone taking the head because he’ll still have the other. Jaskier should remove what he can of the brain but with Geralt still following him in the rain, he decides to cut his losses. He doesn’t want him to catch a cold on his behalf because he’s too stubborn to go back to the room, even though Jaskier told him to. 

Jaskier is picking the dried guts off his shirt when they walk into the inn. There’s no nice way to put the way everything just halts when they walk into the room. No one likes Witchers in general, so one coming in covered in the evidence of monster hunting—it's only worse to say the least. 

He clears his throat and searches for the inn keeper or really anyone who looks like they work here, “A bath please.” 

“And some ale,” Geralt adds in. 

Jaskier doesn’t stop him; ale sounds pleasant. They should probably eat but he doesn’t want to push his luck with how hospitable these people are. 

The inn keeper sighs, “I’ll bring it to your room.” 

It’s better than Jaskier could have hoped for so he nods and makes sure Geralt follows him out of the main area. 

He wastes no time getting a blazing fire started and waves Geralt over to sit in front of it. 

Geralt rolls his eyes but goes with Jaskier’s unsaid request. He’s taken off most of his damp layers and is back to writing in his no doubt waterlogged book. 

Eventually—much later than Jaskier would have liked—a tub is rolled in for them. They’re given directions to the well and given a bucket. Jaskier waits until they’ve left before he groans and drags a hand down his face. 

Hadn’t he done enough for the night? 

Apparently not because he’s leaving through the back door, away from the public eye, and hauling back cold water one bucket at a time. Geralt had offered to do it but Jaskier turned him down; he regrets it five buckets in. 

He’s only half filled the tub before he calls it fine. 

Jaskier is pulling his shirt off when presumably the inn keeper is finally bringing them some ale. Geralt gets up and answers the door for him. They barter for a bit but it seems Geralt has enough to cover the costs so at least he has that going for him. 

His leg has swollen up more than he’d like from the bite. He has to sit down and carefully pry his boot off; it’s not a pleasant experience. Jaskier can smell more than feel when the wound reopens itself and starts oozing blood again. 

“Here,” Geralt hands him one of the disgustingly warm ales. 

“Thanks,” Jaskier smiles, stretching his leg out and letting it bleed freely. He’s glad to be wearing dark pants because the resulting stain would be a nuisance to work out otherwise. 

The ale does little to quell his wondering mind but it’s better than nothing. Its glass is covered in condensation, but he hadn’t expected to receive anything different. Witchers never got good drinks unless they were being buttered up for a particularly difficult job. He drinks it and relishes the stale taste, even if he really just wants to spit it back out. 

Jaskier downs the rest of the glass as quickly as he can. 

He sets it on one of the rooms side tables and with a soft exhale starts to take his pants off—which is quite a process from how much muck has dried them stiff in all the wrong places. Jaskier weighs the pros and cons briefly before yanking them off at much as he can in one move. It pulls any scabbing loose but that was going to have to be done anyway. 

“Ah shit—” he hisses. “That was a bad idea,” Jaskier pouts, bending his leg a few times in an attempt to lessen the stinging. 

“Jaskier?” Geralt looks up from his notes, his brow creased. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Jaskier waves him off. 

He sputters a bit when he actually catches sight of the bite and scrambles off the floor away from the fire. 

Now that it’s out in the open he can properly assess the damage. It’s an angry puffy red but that was a given considering the treatment he’d given it. Blood runs lazily down his calf, the wounds already clotting over. There’s some purpling bruising on the surrounding area, so at least his healing hasn’t been affected by anything. 

“It’ll clean up,” Jaskier assures him. “I’ve had worse.” 

He gets into the cold water and quickly heats it up. Most regular people didn’t know that Witchers could use fire but Geralt never seemed fazed by it—even when they first met. Jaskier sighs contently and stretches his leg out. 

“Do you even know what you're doing?” Geralt asks him sternly, taking in the nonchalant way Jaskier is treating his bleeding leg. 

“I’ve had worse,” Jaskier says again, shrugging. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt glares, settling down beside the tub. 

He blinks at him, a little taken aback. Jaskier is fascinated by the hard set in Geralt’s shoulders and the way his jaw flexes with tension. His eyes are steely, from this close they look like warm honey but when the fire flickers just so, they’re light brown. 

“Have at it,” he relents, lifting his leg out of the water so that Geralt can fret over it to his heart's content. 

There’s something off about Geralt but he can’t place it. Jaskier is trained to pick up on oddities, it’s a useful skill for deciding which jobs he should take. (He tries to keep away from crooked offers but sometimes he has no other choice.) He lets it go, purely because doesn't want to find anything.

Geralt is tender with his handling of the bite. It leaves a conflicted lump in Jaskier’s throat. He should never have let him travel with him; this was too much. 

How was he supposed to leave in the morning and pretend none of this happened? 

Jaskier closes his eyes and leans back overcome with the weight of his choices. 

Geralt dabs away the fresh blood, equally as inexperienced with this sort of thing as Jaskier. He hasn’t done anything different to Jaskier’s standard care for his punctures—just a standard washing and maybe a bandage if it’s not closing on its own. 

For the meantime he decides to ignore his inner turmoil in favor of savoring the care while he can. It’s a bit amusing when he looks back at Geralt only to find him looking thoroughly puzzled and concentrated. 

“Do you usually heal like this?” he asks after a while of prodding at one of the bitemarks. 

Jaskier hums and turns his attention to his steadily closing wound. “Do people really know so little about Witchers?” he counters curiously. 

Geralt squints at him and nods. 

“Perk of the mutations,” he answers in turn, unable to provide more than that. Jaskier had never gone out of his way to dig up the specifics and truthfully didn’t think he’d ever regret not knowing all of what was done to him. 

He hums and takes his hands off Jaskier’s leg, “Should be good.” 

Jaskier smiles and rolls his eyes, “Told you so.” He drops his leg back into the tub, much to Geralt’s chagrin, and grabs the cloth he’d been using to start wholeheartedly scrubbing off the rest of his grime. There’s not much chance of infection and he really wants to enjoy a nice warm soak after walking in the rain. He could care less about how dirty the water has gotten. 

“Your ale is definitely not worth drinking now,” he tells Geralt when he catches sight of his abandoned work area. 

Geralt huffs and knocks Jaskier’s shoulder affectionately before going back to the fire. He stokes the coals back to an inferno and pointedly takes a big gulp of the ale. It probably would have made a better point if he didn’t immediately wince and look regretful afterwards. 

Jaskier snorts but doesn’t call him on it—no point rubbing salt in the wound. 

“Was shitty ale anyway,” Geralt grumbles pulling his book up to shield himself away. 

He finds having someone else who willing wants to be in his room to be a pleasant change—if only for the ambient noise that comes with it. Geralt isn’t as quiet now that he’s working on material. He tears pages and throws them straight onto the fire if he’s not happy with how his writing is going and he mutters to himself while he works. Jaskier finds this endearing more than anything, it’s the most emotion he’s seen from Geralt yet. 

Jaskier is definitely getting greedy now; he’d forgotten what even just neutral companionship felt like. He finds himself yearning for things he can’t ask for. Having Geralt around was dangerous, for more than Geralt’s health in this. Jaskier wasn’t sure what he’d do if the one person who’d been nice to him in more than a century was harmed on his behalf. 

He hadn’t been planning to hash this all out right now, but he supposes it’s better to prepare himself for the heartbreak coming. Jaskier suspects that Geralt will be parting ways with him in the morning in search of better, less dangerous muses—even the nicest of people could only stand being around Witchers for so long. 

It conflicts with everything he’s learned of Geralt but history can’t be wrong. 

The water doesn’t seem as pleasant anymore, so he gets out, tracking water in his wake. He pays it no mind as he does the bare minimum to dry of and put on some night clothes—he doesn’t bother with a shirt. 

Geralt tsks and looks distastefully at Jaskier’s mess, so he drops the towel he’d been using to soak up the spill. 

Jaskier decides to make the most of his company and joins him by the fire, choosing to bring a chair over as opposed to sitting on the rug with Geralt. If this was their last night, he wasn’t going to spoil it by overstepping his boundaries—besides that was only asking for more hurt on his part. 

“How’s the ballad coming together?” he asks, not so subtly trying to catch a glimpse of Geralt’s writing. 

“Fine,” Geralt narrows his eyes and shifts away from Jaskier’s prying eyes. 

Jaskier puts his hands up in surrender and stretches his leg out. 

Geralt tracks the movement and frowns. He reaches over and rolls his pant leg up much to Jaskier’s astonishment. 

“It looks better,” he nods contently, as if that was the most natural thing to do. 

“Uh-huh,” Jaskier nods trying not to look too startled. He dumbly glances at his leg and the accompanying bruises that have already started to fade into an ugly dull greenish yellow on the edges. He suspects the bite will be nothing but scars by this time tomorrow. 

Geralt continues to write, stopping occasionally to look at Jaskier and scrutinize him. He’s not writing as much and eventually just puts it all away. 

“Where are we going next?” he asks, crossing his legs and basking in the fire. 

“We?” Jaskier asks dumbfounded. 

Geralt nods in a way that leaves no room for further debate. It's a very stern nod. 

“Oh, uh, Oxenfurt,” he says awkwardly. 

He hums considering it, “I’ve never been.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is oddly both the most productive and least productive time for me. I'm doing everything in cycles; so I'll write a lot one day and then leave it alone for a couple days.  
> My sketchbook is the only thing I haven't looked twice at while in isolation and that makes me a little sad. I think I'll draw something later tonight.  
> Anyway! Stay safe out there and try to keep sane during these harsh times! :)


	6. Ration shopping

_“I’ve never been.”_

_“I’ve never been.”_

_**“I’ve never-”**_

The words have been echoing in Jaskier’s head all night. He wouldn’t admit it but he was losing some sleep over it. 

How had a _bard_ not been to Oxenfurt? 

He’d been convinced that Geralt was classically trained but if that was the case, then surely, he’d gone to school in Oxenfurt. Unless he wasn’t from Redania originally? 

Jaskier supposes that’s plausible with how close they are to the Temeria border, but it still doesn’t add up. 

He chalks it up to another of Geralt’s oddities but that doesn’t make him stop wondering about it. 

Next thing he knew, the sun was shining through the cracked curtains and there was no point bothering to try and sleep anymore. Jaskier drags his hands down his face before dragging himself out of bed. 

Geralt is still blissfully asleep, surrounded by the pillows Jaskier insisted he took. If he was going to sleep on the floor, he should at least be a bit more comfortable. 

Jaskier lets him be and side steps around him to gather up his drowner head and put a shirt on. He might as well go get his payment while he can do so alone. If he’s lucky this will be a quick in and out interaction but if not, he’d rather get called slurs without an audience. 

He straps his swords to his hip and artfully manages to tug his boots on, thankfully not knocking anything over with his hands mostly full still. 

Jaskier looks at Geralt one last time before leaving to hunt down the alderman. He’s hoping to be back in time for breakfast together. 

It’s early enough that most people are still asleep so he’s relatively free to wonder without prejudice. Anyone who happens to be out at this time wordlessly avoids him with only a little bit of gawking—which could honestly be chalked up to the decapitated head he was carrying around more than anything. 

The other drowner head is still on the doorstep so he picks that back up. It was mostly left alone aside from being moved a bit, likely from someone opening the door to get in or out. If fortune is on his side it'll be the former.

Jaskier knocks on the door rather cheerful despite his sleepless night. He waits a bit and knocks a second time before he can actually hear someone coming to answer the door. 

“Hello,” he greets the sleepy alderman. 

“Witcher,” he grumbles, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He notices the two heads and sighs, “Give me a few minutes.” 

Jaskier nods and the door is shut in his face. He frowns but isn’t too upset by this because he can still hear him grumbling on the other side. 

Really, this is one of the nicer outcomes—he’s getting paid and doesn’t have to deal with any talking. Maybe he should collect all his payments this early. 

When the alderman returns, he shoves a few sizable coin purses at him. It’s definitely not what they’d agreed on but it’s more than the flyers original price. “Take those with you,” he scowls at the drowner heads. 

“Of course, thank you,” Jaskier smiles and goes on his way happily enough. 

The whole exchange went faster than he’d been expecting so he takes his trophies out of town and salvages what he can from them for potions. It’s not the cleanest or most pleasant work but it was cheaper to buying from apothecaries or traveling salespeople. At least the tub of cold water should still be around to wash his hands in, Jaskier decides to look at the positives. 

His journey back to the inn isn’t as peaceful, people are starting to get up and start their days. Most of them steer clear but a few spit and curse the ground his walks on, Jaskier tries not to let it get to him. 

It’s a relief when he’s back in the room and Geralt is still sleeping soundly. Jaskier toes his boots off and washes what he can of the guts off his hands. He still feels gross but that’s not something that will leave regardless of what he does. Harvesting materials has always left him feeling this way, so it’s not a surprise. 

Jaskier sits on the bed and empties the coin purses to count out what he’s got to work with. 

He’s most of the way through the pile when Geralt starts to wake up. Pausing, Jaskier looks up and waits while he gets a little more lucid. 

“Jaskier,” he rumbles, looking at him with bleary eyes. 

“Good morning,” he smiles fondly, grateful for the neutrality after every other person he’d encountered. 

He hums and looks at the coins in front of Jaskier for a moment before raising his brow inquisitively. 

“You were still sleeping so I went and took care of some errands,” Jaskier shrugs. He takes a few coins and sets them at the edge of the bed. “You should get us something to eat.” 

Geralt squints and him but begrudgingly accepts the money. 

“Please,” Jaskier adds hopefully. 

“Got it,” he gets up and slides his shoes on. Jaskier waits until he leaves before, he turns back to his payment to finish counting it. 

It’s nice to not have to go back out and barter for his food. He hopes they’ll treat Geralt like a normal person and not give him trouble for being around a Witcher. 

Jaskier rations out his coins, setting some to the side for emergency rooms or other unexpected expenses. There’s plenty left off to get rations that would hopefully last until Oxenfurt. If Geralt really intends to travel with him, that makes it much easier since they’ll have Roach to carry supplies. 

He’s pretty sure he has enough to get a decent pair of boots to replace his current pair—the heel was mostly worn down and he was pretty sure the soles were a few days from falling right off. 

Geralt returns with two bowls of steaming porridge and some bread. 

Jaskier readily accepts it and eats the bland food—at least it was warm and filling.

“Thank you,” he says awkwardly after he’s already mostly done eating. It had only just occurred to him that he should say something about it. Now that he's eaten something, he feels a bit more awake and ready to travel.

Geralt nods so he figures it’s fine that he'd left it unsaid for so long. 

“We’ll need to get supplies and then we’re leaving,” Jaskier says filling the quiet room. “You’re still planning to go right?” 

Another nod so Jaskier continues talking, “Nothing frivolous—just food and some other essentials.” 

Geralt seemed equipped enough for camping and life on the road, so he wasn’t too concerned about that. Even his clothing was more muted, which fit well for following someone like Jaskier. 

“We leave town no later than noon,” he decides on a whim just to set a time frame. “I need new boots, but it shouldn’t take long; can I trust you to pick out camp rations?” 

“Sure,” Geralt says, looking mildly taken aback. Jaskier is just glad to get a verbal response; it’s a wonder how he functions without him to fill the silence. He’s convinced he’s warming up to him—although obviously he would have to if he was writing about him. 

“Pack up, they’ll want us out as soon as they can,” Jaskier sighs setting his dishes to the side. The polite thing to do would be to bring them out front, but if they were going to treat him like human garbage, they could deal with it. 

He pulls on his boots (hopefully for the last time) and gathers all his stuff back up to put in his bag. It’s modest all compressed down but that’s not surprising with how he travels. 

Jaskier divides up the coins appropriately and puts them into their respective pouches. He waits for Geralt to finish up before handing the more sizable one to him wordlessly. 

Not even a minute later, the innkeeper is knocking on the door. Jaskier rolls his eyes and grabs the key. 

“We were just leaving,” he says before they can say anything. 

Thankfully they aren’t in as much of a rush to send Roach out of the stables so they can still stash their bags with her for the time being. People aren’t as hostile now that Jaskier isn’t alone, but they don’t bother giving him dirty looks. 

He’s almost tempted to go without boots, especially when they get to the thriving marketplace. 

Still they’ll need supplies—for Roach’s sake more than anything. They agree to meet up in the center square once they’re done. 

He walks into the shoemaker’s shop and feels greatly out of place. If he had more time, he’d go to the cobbler instead to spend less time around crowds. He doesn’t want to spend days here waiting though, so he browses the new shoes. 

It reeks of lemon and grapefruit, even more so without the open air to diffuse it. His nose is itching but he doesn’t approach anyone for help—he’d rather not make it worse, even if it's rancid with the smell of shoe leather and polish. 

He finally finds a pair of boots he deems suitable and talks the shop keeper into a decent price. Jaskier expected it to be a little more than he’d ended up spending so he has a little extra funds left over. 

Along the way towards the center, he notices Geralt looking at a fiddle at one of the carts. Jaskier waits and watches as he sets it back and talks for a while with the owner. Geralt waves him off and walks off without getting anything. 

Jaskier knows they shouldn’t be buying frivolous things but watching the interaction leaves him conflicted. 

A fiddle is definitely too much but... He’s in good spirits now that he can’t feel every pebble underfoot. 

He can’t stop himself from wondering over to inspect the wares himself. 

The cart’s owner keeps quiet but is keeping a close eye on him. He cringes when Jaskier’s finger brushes against an instrument’s glossy surface curiously. 

Jaskier doesn’t touch any of the others but he does look over the various oils and waxes. He doesn’t know the slightest thing about which one works best so he goes off what smells the strongest. Linseed overpowers almost anything else on the cart of he picks up a bottle of it hoping it will be alright. 

“How much?” he asks. 

The merchant gives him a scrutinizing look and probably an outlandish price for such a thing. Jaskier barters it down and leaves having spent too much on some stupid instrument oil. 

He rationalizes the purchase by telling himself that if Geralt was going to play his songs, his lute should be properly cared for. 

Geralt is still finalizing rations so Jaskier makes himself comfortable, as out of the way as one could manage in a market square. He doesn’t have much else to do so he fiddles with the linseed oil, rolling it between his hands and watching the light reflect through it as a warm golden hue. 

Jaskier is frowning at the bottle when Geralt finds him, a fresh breath of lavender. 

“Geralt,” he smiles and discreetly pockets the oil, too embarrassed to hand it over. “Did you find enough?” 

Geralt hands over a bag of dried meats and root vegetables. Jaskier isn’t sure this is what he’d normally pick but he doesn’t mind. There are even some spices tucked in the side; they could be considered luxury but Geralt likely doesn’t get price gouged the way he does. 

Jaskier stands up and cradles the bag of food in one arm, leaving Geralt to handle the other—likely filled with oats and other various things for Roach. 

“Thanks,” he says hesitantly, grateful to have help. 

Geralt gives him a half smile in response and briefly grabs his elbow, “Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter mostly was an excuse to establish some public opinions for Witchers, the next one should have more interactions with the boys. :)
> 
> I finished up one of my courses early so hopefully I'll have some more time to work on this without worrying about assignments.


	7. Sough, fought, or wrought

Getting Roach ready for the road goes much faster with both of them working on it. Jaskier typically doesn’t have to deal with this side of things but he knows some of the basics and only needs Geralt to give him directions a few times. Thankfully tacking a horse is much easier than untacking. 

It’s big weight off his shoulders when they finally are out of Casterfurt and he’s got grass under his boots instead of cobble or dirt roads. 

Now that he’s not on high alert from being in public he can feel his lack of sleep catching up to him a bit. His eyes feel bleary and he knows he’s not thinking as clearly as he should be. Jaskier’s sure he’s gone longer without though. 

Geralt is walking beside him with his notebook, reviewing more than adding anything to it. He’s much more alert doing this in the daylight since he’s not stumbling as much; only when he’s completely absorbed in his thoughts. 

“Jaskier,” he says after a while. 

“Huh?” he blinks slowly, realizing that he’d been staring at Geralt for a while. 

“Sought, fought, or wrought?” Geralt asks. 

“Sought, fought, or wrought?” Jaskier echoes confused. “What do you mean?” 

He frowns and taps his book with his graphite stick, “Which do you prefer?” 

“Are you asking me for advice for your song?” Jaskier asks incredulously. 

Geralt hums and avoids his eyes. 

“Well, it’ll help to hear what you're working on,” he smiles intrigued. 

He purses his lip and shakes his head, “Forget it.” 

“Ah, come on Geralt,” Jaskier pouts. “They’re all lovely but some context would be nice.” 

“Drop it,” he says heatedly, but not enough for Jaskier to actually do so. 

“I think wrought is nice.” 

Geralt nods and crosses something out in his notebook, “Not that one.” 

“Why did you ask then!” Jaskier sputters indignantly, a little insulted. 

“To weed out bad taste,” he smiles at Jaskier smugly. 

“That doesn’t even make sense,” he says bumping Geralt’s shoulder a bit. 

Geralt gives him a teasing look and gets onto Roach, “Walk by yourself then, I have a song to write.” 

Jaskier is left stunned as he coaxes Roach to stay ahead of Jaskier, riding just a bit faster than his walking pace. He’s comes out of it more amused than anything and struggles to keep up with them. 

“Geralt, wait up!” he laughs, breaking into a half jog. 

Geralt flips him off and coaxes Roach into a trot. 

Jaskier tries to keep pace but he’s too tired and gives up quickly in favor of a slower pace. He stumbles over his feet enough without the additional speed challenge. Geralt’s far enough ahead that Jaskier almost can’t see him. He occasionally stifles a yawn into his sleeve or behind his hand, content enough with that. 

After the better part of an hour, Geralt waits for Jaskier to catch up to them. 

“Jaskier,” he looks pensive, twisting the reins in his hands. “Are you... okay?” 

He falters in his pacing, blaming his stumble on a nonexistent rock, “I’m fine; why do you ask?” 

Geralt’s frowning and gazes intensely at Jaskier’s boots. He opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but then closes it again saying nothing. 

It takes a bit on pondering on Jaskier’s part until he finally connects the pieces in his sleepy dazed thoughts. 

“The bite,” he says questioningly. “You’re concerned.” 

Geralt nods stiffly, “You’re slower today.” 

Jaskier laughs at that and agrees, “I’m just tired is all.” 

He seems to mull that around for a bit, his brows furrowing more over time until finally he dismounts with a soft thud beside Jaskier. 

“Geralt?” 

His frown deepens and he thrusts the reins at him. 

Jaskier gingerly takes them and looks between him and Roach, “Are you...?” 

“Just get on the horse Jaskier,” he orders, crossing his arms. 

He nods dumbly and runs his hand across Roach’s neck a few times before he attempts to climb into the saddle. It’s all of three seconds before he slips and fumbles back onto the dirt, barely managing to stay on his feet. 

Geralt muffles his laugh and thankfully doesn’t comment on it. 

Jaskier wishes he could blame it on being tired but really he’s just out of practice and it’s not helped that he’d trying to get on a moving horse. He takes a deep breath and tries again, this time with a little more of a jump after he gets his foot into the hold. 

...It’s less successful than the first one and he falls completely back into the dirt, knocking some of his breath away. Geralt steps in and takes the reins to stop Roach; then hold his hand out to help him up, not even bothering to hide his amusement. 

As much as he wants to brush his hand away and be grumpy for the rest of the day, he knows that would just be petty after being offered Roach. Jaskier uses his hand to pull himself up and brushes the dirt from his clothes. 

Roach isn’t moving anymore with Geralt holding her still but Jaskier doesn’t trust himself not to further embarrass himself. 

“Can you help me?” he asks a little nervously. 

“Get over here,” Geralt motions him closer. When Jaskier is close enough he grabs his waist and hoists him up with relative ease. 

Jaskier stares at him wide eyed and more than a bit flustered as he rearranges himself properly onto the saddle. “Thanks,” he says quietly stunned. 

It was pretty clear from Geralt’s bulky physique that he kept fit, but it was another thing to be picked up like it was nothing. He stores that away to ponder over properly later, right now he needs to keep Roach heading in the right direction. 

Jaskier admittedly isn’t doing a good job staying focused. 

Roach is pretty laid back about the swap, if anything, he’s more concerned about Geralt. He keeps one hand on the back of her saddle. It wouldn’t be so unnerving, but the intense set of his jaw has Jaskier wondering if he should have insisted on walking. 

The smell of peppermint is strong, and it takes a moment before he realizes there isn’t any growing in this part of the woods. It’s wafting off Geralt. 

“Are you sure this is okay?” he asks him, trying not to give his nerves away. 

Geralt glances at him and his face softens a bit, “It’s fine.” 

“Can I ask about your song?” Jaskier asks to hopefully diffuse the tension some more. 

“It’s not done.” 

He holds back from dragging his hand down his face, “That’s not what I asked.” 

His eyes flicker back to Jaskier, “What do you want to know?” 

“What’s it about?” he starts with. 

“Isn’t that obvious?” 

“Should it be?” Jaskier shoots back. 

“You,” Geralt huffs amused. “It’s about you.” 

“Oh...” He supposes that should have been fairly clear, but it still startles him. “Why?” Jaskier pauses and wets his lips. “Why do you want to write about me?” 

Geralt hums and Jaskier almost expects it to end there. 

“No one else is writing about Witchers,” he says looking up at him with enough intensity that Jaskier turns away. 

“Is that all?” he asks nervously. 

Geralt shrugs, the peppermint gives way to lavender again. 

It’s relatively quiet for the rest of the evening, interrupted only for a couple breaks for water and to give Roach some rest. 

“We should stop here,” Geralt says when the sunlight starts dwindling. 

They’re stopped by the river and Jaskier can’t find much reason to protest. The grass is pleasantly soft underfoot and he feels a bit like death warmed over from being allowed to ride all day. (His legs are actually sore from the different strain it caused and he’s looking forward to laying down very much.) 

“I’ll do get us some firewood,” Jaskier says as his answer. 

Geralt stops him before he can get far by putting his arm out across his chest. “You’re too tired,” he frowns. “It’ll be faster for me to do it.” 

Jaskier almost complains about it but it’s an excuse to not move, so he nods and pats Geralt’s hand, “I’ll start unpacking Roach then.” 

He looks pensive but reluctantly leaves Jaskier to care for her. 

“Maybe he does trust me,” he muses to Roach as he unhooks all the bags, leaving them in a pile off to the side. “A bard who willingly stays with a Witcher, who would have guessed?” 

Roach nickers and butts against his chest as if to counter his brief self-deprecation. 

Jaskier sighs and scratches behind her ears fondly before his attempts to figure out how Geralt’s bitless bridle works. 

It takes more time than he’d expected, and he’s given quite a few bites from Roach when he messes up. He can feel her disapproval with his treatment, and he sneaks her an apple from Geralt’s pack in a clear act of bribery to smooth things over. 

Bribery must work on her because she doesn’t fight or back away from Jaskier approaching to brush her mane out. He’s not really sure what else he should be doing so he starts braiding a section, pretending to be productive for when Geralt comes back. 

It works in Jaskier’s favor because the tension bleeds out of Geralt when he returns with his arms full. He nods appreciatively at him and sets about preparing the fire pit, leaving Jaskier to his handiwork.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent so much time deciding on smells to indicate emotions and I'm pretty sure I could go tame the horses in my yard after all my research. Peppermint is supposed to be nerves or concern for anyone curious. ^^
> 
> My current estimate is that this is going to be a slow burn and it's probably going to get pretty lengthy because I keep adding plot points I want to happen. Feel free to ask questions if you want though, I'm more than happy to answer even if I might not get to it right away!


	8. Birch

Braiding is not difficult to remember; Jaskier spent enough time practicing in his younger years that it’s practically muscle memory at this point. Roach has plenty of mane to work with as well, so it’s all working out in his favor in a way that makes it appear as if he knows how to care for a horse. 

Geralt eventually has everything set up to his liking with the firewood and walks over towards Jaskier and his more likely destination of where he’s piled up their supplies. He pauses and looks over his handiwork, looking rather impressed if Jaskier is reading him right. 

“Do you braid often?” he asks, leaning around him to touch one of the braids delicately. 

“Not as often as I’d like,” Jaskier admits, a bit startled by the proximity—never mind that Geralt was making small talk. 

Geralt nods, looking thoughtful, “These are... nice.” 

“Thank you,” Jaskier smiled. “Maybe someday I could do yours?” 

He immediately wishes that he could take the words back when Geralt tenses up for a moment. It was a stupid thing to suggest and he hates himself for it; waiting for him to look at him with disgust. 

“Maybe,” he says instead, looking more contemplative than anything. 

“Okay,” Jaskier nods dumbly, glad he didn’t mess things up or have to make something up on the fly to play it off as a joke. 

“Do you know where the tinderbox is?” Geralt asks after the moment lingers on a bit too long, shoulders tensing up again. 

“Tinderbox?” 

“For the fire,” he adds as he steps back out of Jaskier’s space. The smell of vanilla and peppermint lingers strongly from the proximity and Jaskier almost steps forward to keep it close. 

“I’ll start it,” Jaskier offers, “but it’s probably in your pack?” 

“...Right...” he trails off, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. 

Jaskier takes pity and leaves Geralt to his devices, hoping he’ll take over and finish up with Roach. He plops himself down onto a comfortable enough looking patch of grass—it's better than dirt. 

After _he_ fiddles with arranging the kindling, he wastes no time and sets it ablaze with a simple hand sign. Now that he’s sitting and warm, Jaskier can feel himself dozing off even more. 

“Tired?” Geralt asks as he rejoins him by the fire. 

Jaskier gives him a _look._

“Here,” he says in favor of not acknowledging the response, holding out what appears to be some sort of dried fruit mix towards him. “You should eat before you sleep.” 

The fruits are pretty good, even if they weren’t something that he’d pick for dinner himself. They take turns passing the bag back and forth and while it’s not much, it’s better than nothing. Jaskier is more tired than anything anyway. 

Once he’s had his fill, he refuses the bag and just lays back on the grass not bothering with a bed roll. It’s warm enough and he’s feeling too lazy. 

“Good night, Geralt,” he says making himself comfortable for the night and closing his eyes. 

“You intend to sleep like that?” 

“Why not?” Jaskier opens an eye to peer at Geralt. “Grass is nice enough; less packing in the morning.” 

Geralt watches him for a moment, appraising him before shrugging, “Good night then.” 

He wakes covered in a camp blanket. 

Traveling with Geralt is not what Jaskier had expected it to be—not that he had many expectations going into it—just that it was... interesting. 

The longer they spend time together, the more Geralt seems to open up and that was the last thing he was expecting. He even had a habit of playing his lute for a few hours after they’d set up camp now. 

Days seem simultaneously longer and shorter. The Path is never something to tread lightly but he is only put more on edge with his companions—Roach counts as a separate being after all. 

He strays away from areas where there were more likely evils lurking in the dark. While at the same time, Jaskier found them setting camp earlier and earlier than he’d like. It was never before the sun was setting, just that they couldn’t travel as well in the dark. Jaskier certainly didn’t want to deal with any twisted ankles, even if Geralt wasn’t likely to complain about it. 

Horses didn’t mix well with night travel either. It was just better to avoid all around, so he listens for when they seem to tire and usually has to decide when they camp because Geralt wouldn’t say when he wanted to. 

Which is another oddity, for a bard Geralt is quite humble. 

The few occasions where Jaskier would praise his compositions, he always brushes it off quickly. He didn’t say anything about a lack of luxuries out on the road and was generally a quiet constant. 

They work out a rather nice routine for setting up camp early on though. Jaskier would go see if he could hunt something or forge up some fresh food and Geralt would gather firewood and tend to Roach. 

Tonight was no different and Jaskier set off with his crossbow in hand. (He vowed to never make the same mistake again.) 

There are tracks from a couple deer in the area, which are quite tempting. If they had more salt than it might have been worth it to hunt one. As it was though, they didn’t need that much meat despite the rations not lasting as much as Jaskier would have liked. 

He carefully scours the forest floor for smaller animal tracks but nothing seems as promising as the deer. 

Jaskier frowns and takes in his surroundings; he really doesn’t want to waste anything. There nothing aside from some scrawny rabbits. 

He clips his bow away and instead starts forging for vegetables, roots, anything else. There’s a couple edible trees so he cuts pieces away, leaving just enough to not damage them permanently. It won’t be the best meal, but it’ll do. 

As he walks back towards where they’ve set camp, he spots a lone doe in the distance. She’s not very big and out in the open she’s an easy target... 

Jaskier sighs and keeps walking. 

“Anything good?” Geralt asks from where he’s sitting by the fire. 

“Birch?” Jaskier offers, opening the bag attached to his hip and pulling out some leaves. 

“It’s edible?” 

“Better than nothing,” he shrugs. “Here,” Jaskier hands him a piece of cambium. 

Geralt squints at him and then looks at the reddish-brown bark appraisingly. He hesitantly chews it and looks at Jaskier surprised. “It's sweet?” 

Jaskier hums, “It’ll be easier to eat after it’s boiled but it’s not so bad.” 

“And those?” he looks at the young leaves intrigued. 

“Oh... uh,” he dutifully hands one over. 

Geralt raises his eyebrow but takes a bite... only to spit it back out shortly after grimacing. 

“They’re an acquired taste,” Jaskier laughs, chewing one of the bitter leaves for himself. 

“Hm,” he grumpily chews the cambium, likely trying to rid himself of the taste. 

“Do you even want to try this part?” Jaskier picks out some of the sparse buds he’d managed to find. 

Geralt frowns, “You first.” 

Jaskier rolls his eyes and pops one into his mouth. It tastes strongly of licorice and he really doesn’t mind how strong it is; he’s certainly had worse. 

Geralt raises his brow again, waiting. 

“It’s a little bitter, not too bad for the season.” 

He sighs and holds his hand out; Jaskier smiles and tips a couple into his palm. 

“When it’s later in the season and we’re at the coast; I’ll teach you how to brew birch into a nice beer,” Jaskier muses. 

“You can make beer from this?” Geralt looks at their meager spread of birch pieces. 

“Pretty damn good one too,” Jaskier says proudly. 

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” 

Jaskier hums and settles back against the saddle that Geralt kindly left out for him. 

Sap would have really tied the meal together but as it was, he settled for setting up some bark to boil. 

“What do you do if you get a splinter?” Geralt asks after a while, well after the water heats up properly. 

Jaskier shrugs, “Try not to.” 

He nods solemnly. 

“Did you already get one?” 

“...No...” 

Jaskier sighs fondly, “Come here, let me see.” 

Geralt grumbles but reluctantly scoots over and holds his hand out to Jaskier. 

“Oh, it's not so bad,” Jaskier hums, scrutinizing his palm and easily spotting the problem. 

Truthfully, he’d been expecting something worse but as long as it wasn’t a mouth splinter, he could probably manage to squeeze it out. 

“This might hurt but don’t move; I’ll get it out,” Jaskier says softly, trying to be gentle about pinching it free. 

“...almost,” he sticks his tongue out a bit, concentrating on his task. 

It's deeper than he’d expected. 

“Got it,” Jaskier grins, looking up to see Geralt’s face inches from his. 

“Thanks,” he says, close enough that his breath fans against Jaskier’s cheeks. 

“Mhm,” Jaskier nods, awkwardly pushing himself further against the saddle. 

Geralt looks down at his hand expectantly. 

“Oh,” Jaskier lets his hand go. “All better.” 

He chuckles and shakes his head, “Are those done?” 

Jaskier looks over the pot and nods absently, “Should be easier to chew now; keep the water though.” 

Geralt hums curiously but leaves it to cool in the dirt. 

“It’ll taste good, trust me.” 

“Alright,” he smiles. “You taste it first though.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finals have been the death of me; I can't keep myself focused and it sucks!  
> That being said; Geralt is allow to talk but only after he gets used to people lol. I don't know what I'm doing and I feel like it shows.   
> On the bright side we're getting really close to some song pieces from Geralt.... which means I need to finish writing that too lol.  
> Hope everyone is still doing well despite the state of the world!


	9. Odd behavior

As they got closer to Oxenfurt, it became abundantly clear that they would need to get more supplies. Going at this pace they would have at least another week before they reached the city; they’d have to make a detour. 

Jaskier counts the remaining crowns from his last job and knows he’ll have to take up another job. It costs much more than he thought to travel with a group. Although he supposes that his estimate wasn’t too far off—it's just that they weren’t traveling as quickly as he’d like. 

“Geralt,” he says, taking note of where they are. “We should cross the river now.” 

“Cross the river?” Geralt inquires. 

“It’s shallow here and we’ll need rations from Mortara,” Jaskier frowns. 

“Do we have the coin?” 

“We’ll stay a few days; I’ll make the coin.” 

Geralt hums and looks thoughtful, “Alright.” 

He gets down from Roach, which surprises Jaskier. Geralt coaxes Roach down into the river with him, and while she’s pensive she doesn’t struggle to follow. Smiling softly, he leads her across with Jaskier close behind. 

His boots are now soaked through but after years of experiencing this he’s grown used to it. The water only reached his mid-thigh so it could have been worse; at least he wasn’t wearing expensive silks... 

Geralt appears unbothered by the river water, taking his lute from Roach. He runs his thumb over the lead compulsively before turning to Jaskier. 

Jaskier raises his brow and waits. 

“Will you...?” he trails off and nods towards Roach. 

He shakes his head and smiles, “Give it here.” 

Geralt grunts and hands Roach off to him. With his now freed hands, he starts strumming out scales on his lute. 

Roach is unbothered by the change, flicking water from her tail in vain. 

Jaskier finds himself falling into a pace set by Geralt’s playing. After his warm ups, he starts working on his song again—much to Jaskier’s curiosity. He has been very secretive about his lyrics, keeping them in his now warped notebook. 

Notes and composition were harder to keep to one’s self and as such Geralt didn’t even try. Jaskier finds that he enjoys listening to the process—hearing it being built up from nothing. 

Today Geralt hums along and occasionally murmurs words from under his breath that Jaskier can’t make sense of. 

“Will I ever get to hear it in its entirety?” Jaskier asks after Geralt’s played through the whole thing a few times without any new changes. 

“Perhaps,” Geralt smiles teasingly. 

Jaskier sighs and shakes his head fondly, “It sounds nice enough with just the lute I guess.” 

Geralt looks a little taken aback, almost messing up one of the chords, but doesn’t reply. 

“Should we stop here for lunch?” Jaskier asks, surveying the sunny meadow and deeming it nice enough. It would be good for getting their clothes to dry. 

During their lunch stop, they both took the break to let their boots dry out better. Jaskier almost took his pants off to set out in the sun but stopped himself because this wasn’t like any other time. 

Having grass under his feet felt strange after walking on the slight heel of his boots all morning. 

Geralt didn’t eat until his fingers were tripping up on his lute strings, causing his face to furrow up in frustration. He then sulks as he eats the meager rations of fruit on the verge of going soft and some venison jerky. 

“How long until Mortara?” he asks Jaskier after taking a swig from his waterskin. 

Jaskier scans the sky trying to estimate the time and factor in how long he could convince Geralt to walk in wet boots—really he should have stayed on Roach. 

“I’d say another day, day and half at most,” he settles on. 

Geralt’s brow hardens and he nods before getting up to rummage through his pack. He pulls a small jar out and coats his reddened fingertips with the contents. “I can work with that,” he mumbles under his breath. 

Jaskier holds his tongue and sooner than he expected they are putting on their damp boots again. 

He cringes at the feeling. It was one thing to have your shoes get wet while they were already on and an entirely different beast to put them back on when your feet had dried. It’s cold work and they stick to his skin in such a way that he has to forcibly wedge them on properly. 

Geralt waits for Jaskier to take Roach’s reins again and then starts practicing again. 

“You’re awfully productive today,” Jaskier points out, glancing over to watch Geralt’s focus falter from his strings. 

“I’m just practicing,” he frowns. 

“More than usual,” Jaskier pries. 

“...Is that a problem?” Geralt looks unsure, his fingers stop in place. 

“No, just noticing,” Jaskier hurries to say, not wanting to make him stop. 

Geralt’s fingers twitch a few times and then he resumes where he left off, looking away from Jaskier. 

Setting up camp for the night was painfully awkward. 

Geralt is still avoiding meeting his eyes and Jaskier is starting to feel like something is off. 

He can’t place it, but he doesn’t feel safe in leaving Geralt alone while he hunts something. 

“I’ll stay here tonight,” Jaskier says, struggling to toe his boots off again—at least his pants had slowly dried in the sun. 

Geralt turns to shoot him a questioning look but doesn’t say anything, focusing on taking the bags from off Roach’s saddle. 

“We have enough rations that it’ll be fine,” he reasons out loud, mostly for his own benefit. “Besides the potatoes are about to rot...” 

The potatoes would have lasted another three or four days if they pushed it and he’s pretty sure Geralt knew that too. Jaskier chooses not to care and sets about setting up a campfire. 

Next, he finely chops some of the worse off vegetables with one of his camp knives, already making his mind up to make a soup. He reverently adds seasonings, lingering to inhale the luxury he rarely allows himself. 

Geralt sits across the fire, his lute next to him. He’s rubbing at his irritated fingers and working more ointment over them. 

“You should take a break,” Jaskier says when Geralt goes to pick his lute back up. 

“Can’t,” he says back simply enough. 

“Surely you can, it already sounds lovely?” 

Geralt frowns but puts his hands back into his lap, “You’re sure it’s a day?” 

It takes Jaskier a moment to piece together what he means before he nods, “Mortara is easily a day away; are we in a rush?” 

“No!” he says so forcibly that Jaskier stops his tending of the soup. 

They stare heatedly for a moment before Geralt drops his gaze to the side. 

“I’m not in a rush,” he mumbles quietly, his hair falling in front of his face shielding his expression. 

“Alright,” Jaskier says carefully. “We’ll keep our usual pace then.” 

Geralt picks up his lute and plucks out three sour sounding notes before setting it back to the side and drawing his knees up against his chest protectively. 

“Do you think we should add more salt...?” Jaskier asks, desperately trying to fix whatever this was. 

Geralt looks up and reluctantly scoots forward to take the wooden spoon from Jaskier’s hand. He runs his finger over the soup to sample it and hums shaking his head. 

“It’s good.” 

“Nothing to add?” Jaskier prompts. 

Geralt frowns and then pulls out the seasonings to add some more herbs to the mix. 

It makes Jaskier’s nose itch, but he holds back his sneeze. The smell strong enough to overpower Geralt’s lavender. He didn’t realize how accustomed to it he was until he couldn’t pick it up anymore. 

“I’m going to make sure everything is secure,” Jaskier says getting up to double check the security of where they are staying. He needs a moment to breathe. 

The further he goes, the more he regrets getting up in the first place. He hadn’t been expecting to find anything, so he didn't even bother with his boots; but as he looks around more he picks up on suspicious details. 

Well... at least he shouldn’t have a hard time finding any work. 

Jaskier is roughly twenty meters away from camp and just about to turn back when he stumbles on exactly what he wouldn’t want. 

A mutilated buck corpse. 

He drags his hands down his face but goes closer. It’s rancid, probably a few days old if he had to venture a guess. Flies buzz angrily when he leans over to try and determine a cause of death. 

This isn’t exactly his field, but he really doesn’t think wolves caused those claw mark. 

“Fuck,” Jaskier swears. 

They’ve already set up camp and he really doesn’t want to alarm Geralt. It’s not fresh, meaning whatever did this has likely moved on... 

He frowns and kicks at the dirt, causing the flies to scatter again. 

Jaskier freezes, a new thought striking him. 

He doesn’t know where the thing is. Geralt’s by himself. 

_Oh shit._

He starts running. 

Retracing his steps and avoiding roots—all the while cursing himself and getting scratched up a bit. Jaskier knew he should have stayed put; he let his feelings carry him away. 

Just like he _always fucking did._

Geralt will be fine; he has to be fine. Jaskier won’t forgive himself if he’s not. 

His chest is heaving a bit from the sprint as he crashes back into camp. He looks around wildly. 

“Jaskier?” 

“Geralt,” he sags with relief, scanning over him frantically. 

“Is... everything okay?” Geralt’s brow furrows and he frowns. 

Jaskier shakes his head, “I was just—no it’s fine; don’t worry about it.” 

He’s here now; Geralt is here. There’s no need to cause any unnecessary panic; they’ll be gone in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did not expect my motivation to drop so hard after the semester. 
> 
> Feels weird not to have any more work aside from my own projects hhhh


	10. Trust issues

Geralt seems weary still but doesn’t push it. 

“Let’s just eat and get some sleep,” Jaskier sighs, knowing he won’t be going to sleep. 

He hums and leans over the simmering pot, stirring it a couple times before angling the spoon towards Jaskier pointedly. 

Jaskier takes the spoon and takes over stirring while Geralt leans back on Roach’s saddle. The tension lingers but it suits him just fine this time; he can’t be letting his guard down tonight. 

Geralt takes to humming softly, looking into the flames. 

“This should be done now,” Jaskier interrupts before he can fully lose himself. He grabs the bowls from the pack, looking over his damp boots pensively. 

It really would be better to be wearing them if something _did_ happen... 

Jaskier frowns and hands one of the bowls over to Geralt, mulling things over. 

“...Did you find something?” Geralt ask, scooping soup into the bowl. 

“Nothing pressing,” Jaskier lies. “Shouldn’t have trouble finding work in town though.” 

Geralt doesn’t say anything, cradling the bowl in his hands while it cools. 

Jaskier discreetly nudges his boots closer to the flames, hoping he isn’t ruining the lifespan in the process. He dishes his own soup and then sets it aside. 

“It really is fine,” Jaskier reiterates for himself. 

Geralt’s eyes flick up at him and he nods. 

After they’ve eaten, Jaskier uses his waterskin to rinse the bowls out while Geralt watches him suspiciously. 

“The river is over there,” he says, unrolling his bedroll. 

“Faster this way,” Jaskier smiles. 

“Hm.” 

Jaskier follows his lead and lays in his bedroll until he’s confident Geralt is asleep. 

After that he slips out and puts his boots on; thankfully dry this time. 

He carefully puts his bedding away and then kneels down between Geralt and Roach to meditate. His silver blade rests beside him in a loose grip. 

Jaskier is unusually tense and shakes himself awake at the slightest snapping of a twig or rustle of leaves. The dawn is breaking before he knows it and he’s exhausted—not the ideal conditions for traveling alone, let alone for protecting. 

Before Geralt starts stirring, he starts a small fire and sets about heating some stuff for breakfast. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt grumbles from behind him. 

“Ah, good morning,” he looks over his shoulder, his sword still sitting beside him in the dirt. 

He sits up and runs his fingers through his hair, flattening it and undoing the easier tangles. Overall, he looks grumpy. 

“Did you sleep well?” Jaskier asks, turning back to his porridge mishmash. 

“No,” Geralt says bluntly, glaring from under his hair. 

“Bad dream?” he ventures a guess, doubting it. Jaskier’s fairly sure he would have noticed if that happened. 

He glares harder and shakes his head, “You didn’t sleep.” 

Jaskier pauses his cooking and turns to face him, “What do you mean?” 

Geralt motions to the grass where Jaskier’s bedroll should have laid. 

“I’m not following,” he says. “I put it away when I got up.” 

“There’s no indents, Jaskier.” 

Oh... He hadn’t considered that. 

“I’m fine, Geralt, don’t worry about it,” Jaskier turns back to his pot. 

Geralt doesn’t answer and he doesn’t turn to look for his reaction. He can hear him shuffling around, likely packing up. 

“I was up,” he grumbles, plopping down next to Jaskier. 

“You were not,” Jaskier glances over. 

He’s sulking. 

“I was up,” he repeats. “For some of it.” 

“I’m sorry that I woke you,” Jaskier says sincerely. 

He looks over and Geralt has his arms crossed, frowning deeply. 

“There’s something wrong.” 

Jaskier sighs and nods, “It doesn’t matter now; we’re leaving in an hour.” 

Geralt doesn’t talk to him for the rest of the morning. He doesn’t look at Jaskier and stays on Roach, a few steps ahead of Jaskier. Thankfully not far enough that Jaskier wouldn’t be able to get to them. 

He knows he did something to make Geralt upset, but he can’t really see what it was. Sleep wasn’t as much of a necessity for him. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier caves as the silence drags on. “We should stop for lunch.” 

“No,” he doesn’t even turn back to look at him. 

“Okay, in a bit then,” Jaskier sighs. 

They walk another hour before Geralt abruptly dismounts. “For Roach,” he says pointedly, patting her neck fondly. 

“For Roach,” Jaskier echoes, pulling something out from the packs to eat. “Are we going to talk about it?” 

“About what?” he asks icily. 

Jaskier motions between them, “This. Whatever is bothering you.” 

Geralt stares at him and bites into an apple. 

“Alright, I’ll take a stab at it then,” Jaskier leans against a tree. “You’re upset I didn’t sleep last night.” 

He raises his eyebrow. 

“...and that....” Jaskier trails off, not knowing how to continue that thought. 

“You don’t trust me.” 

Jaskier almost drops his lunch, “I do too!” 

Geralt scoffs and shakes his head, turning to Roach. 

“You really feel that way,” Jaskier says softly, his chest tightening peculiarly. “Okay, sure,” he rambles crestfallen to himself. 

He doesn’t bring it up again and eventually they set off. 

This time Geralt is strumming angrily at his lute. The sound grates on Jaskier’s ears but he doesn’t say anything. 

He doesn’t even pick up on the glaring cues that something is off. They’ve been wondering farther and farther towards a harpy den—claw marks on trees, mutilated small animals, the occasional feather.

Jaskier does not, however, miss the harpy swooping down on Geralt. 

“Shit!” he shouts and casts aard, sending them to the side as he rushes forward to clash his blade against the claws. “Get out of here!” he roars, bracing himself and shoving the sword away from himself. 

Jaskier can’t check to see if they’re okay—if they listened to him. 

Where there’s one harpy, there are likely more though and he’s already cursing himself for telling Geralt off. 

This is bad; harpies aren't supposed to be in this area. 

The harpy rears back, kicking up dust with its wings that stings Jaskier's eyes. 

He doesn’t have any grapeshots on him, this is going to get dicey. Jaskier steels himself and waits for the next blow, aard on his fingertips—ready at a moment’s notice. 

Jaskier wishes he had been paying more attention; that he prepared better, because soon enough there’s another harpy. He grits his teeth and lets the next flurry of claws dig into his shoulder; hacking into the harpy as it does. 

His ears ring with the screeches but he quickly gets a killing blow in as the claws instinctively close further. 

If he wore armor this wouldn’t have been a problem but as it is, he’s down one arm and doesn’t have sight on the other harpy. 

“-JASKIER!” 

Jaskier swears and takes off towards the shout. 

He fucked up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, thank you guys for all the nice comments!! I feel so bad leaving it on a cliffhanger like that now!
> 
> I just needed to put some sort of rift in the relationship/friendship/partnership/whatever-is-happening tho; it can't all be sweet and nice. Plus I feel like Geralt has a right to be upset over it.


	11. Salvaging the aftermath

Jaskier’s shirt tears further as he darts through the tree branches; taking what he hopes is the shortest route. His shoulder starts stinging as the shock of the injury wears off, but he doesn’t let himself slow down as he crashes out of the brush. 

“GERALT!” he screams, looking around wildly, his nostrils flaring. 

He hears the beating of harpy wings and takes off sprinting, jumping over an upturned log. 

Jaskier sees the harpy before Geralt and his heart plummets for only a moment. The harpy doesn’t have him; this is a good thing. 

He casts the most reckless igni of his life, ignoring the nearby trees as his anger burns through him. 

The greenery catches but he leaps through the flames into the clearing. 

Geralt is laid out on his back, his arms bleeding. Jaskier can’t see Roach; he hopes she got out. 

His vision tunnels in and he rushes over to his side. 

“Geralt,” he says frantically, his sword dropped to the ground as he kneels beside him. “Geralt, tell me you’re okay!” he panics. 

The harpy screeches angrily and Jaskier snarls taking his sword in hand. 

He glares at the monster, tightening his grip on the sword preparing to fillet the bastard. 

It doesn’t come closer though; just lingers _tauntingly_ as the flames spread out. 

Jaskier tosses his sword in his hand a few times, testing it. 

His good arm is still fine... 

He doesn’t think it through before he takes aim and throws his sword at the harpy. His aim is even worse throwing such a large blade, but it sinks home in one of the wings. 

Jaskier spares one more fleeting look at his fallen friend and runs towards where the beast went down. 

He’s unarmed but that won’t stop him. Jaskier stares coldly at it and casts igni one final time; uncaring for his beloved sword. It can melt away for all he cares. 

The harpy screeches as it burns away and Jaskier walks forward, pulling his scorching blade out—burning his hands. 

He feels numb as he walks back to Geralt and lets his sword fall on the grass as soon as he’s back in the smoldering clearing. 

“Geralt,” he whispers mournfully, kneeling back down and brushing some of his hair out of his face. 

His nose crinkles and Jaskier locks in on the movement. 

“You bastard,” he grins tearfully. Jaskier looks Geralt over again and notes that the wounds weren’t that severe; if treated right they likely wouldn’t even scar. 

He pulls him into his arms and looks around for Roach. Jaskier really hopes she didn’t go too far and calls out for her. 

A couple moments pass and then he hears something moving in the brush. He looks over at his sword on the other side of the clearing but thankfully it was just their horse returning unscathed. 

“Roach,” Jaskier says, relief raining down on him. He rests Geralt back down carefully and then goes to rummage through their first aid supplies. 

What works for him would kill Geralt so he has to think carefully about what isn’t toxic to humans. Jaskier wishes he paid more attention to that and blindly throws together what was hopefully a decent salve. 

After Geralt is cared for he knocks back one of his potions and rips up what’s left of his shirt to use as wrappings for his own injuries. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt says gruffly as he’s tending his shoulder. 

He freezes and looks over, hands fumbling. “I’m sorry,” he rushes out. “I shouldn’t have been so careless.” 

Geralt’s face furrows up, his eyes trailing over Jaskier instead of himself, “You’re hurt.” 

“So are you,” Jaskier says distressed. 

Geralt’s face furrows further, “You’re not wearing a shirt.” 

Jaskier pauses his fretting, “What.” 

He looks away, fingers running over the material Jaskier wrapped Geralt’s arms with. 

“Are you okay?” Jaskier asks, brushing past what just happened. 

“I’ll be fine,” Geralt glances back at Jaskier. “What happened to your shirt?” 

“Harpy?” he answers confused. 

“Right...” He pauses and then stiffens up urgently. “Where’s Roach?” 

“She’s over there,” Jaskier soothes, pointing over to where he’d left her. She’s far enough away from the smoking remains of his hasty choices to be safe if it flares up again. 

Geralt nods and relaxes back against the tree Jaskier leaned him against. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Jaskier asks again. 

He looks at him and nods, “Let’s go.” 

“ _Go?_ Geralt, you just got attacked!” Jaskier feels like Geralt is being entirely too calm about the situation, maybe he was hurt worse than he'd thought. 

“All the more reason to leave,” he says coolly. Well... as cool as one can when they are struggling to get up. 

Jaskier sighs and goes over to help. 

Maybe it was for the best that they put as much distance between here as they could. 

He finishes with his shoulder and pulls on a shirt before helping Geralt up onto Roach. Jaskier still feels bad for impulsively casting aard at her and gives her some sugar cubes out of the packs. 

They walk in silence for a while. 

“Thank you,” Geralt says softly, leaning over Roach so that Jaskier can’t see his face through the curtain of his hair. 

Jaskier sighs and wishes he felt like he deserved the sentiments. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he says instead. 

“Because of you,” he insists. 

He hums and looks down at his boots. It was still his fault that he got hurt. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt says sternly. 

Jaskier frowns and looks up to him, his hand subconsciously going to touch his shoulder. His eyes are steely but soften as they track Jaskier’s motion. 

“Get on,” he turns away. 

Jaskier blinks, “Excuse me?” 

Geralt’s shoulders draw together but he repeats himself, “Get on the damn horse, Jaskier.” 

“I’m not sure if you noticed, but your horse isn’t exactly standing still,” he says exasperated but fond. 

Geralt pulls the reins until Roach stops and then looks at him expectantly. 

Jaskier sighs; he already wasn’t good at getting up without help and with his shoulder messed up... 

Geralt holds his hand out, “Come on.” 

He frowns and eyes Geralt’s hand, trailing up over his bandages, “No offence, but I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

“Jaskier.” 

“Fine, fine,” he caves walking over; he really didn't want to walk with his shoulder like this.

Jaskier puts one hand on Roach’s flank, his other hand in Geralt’s—he hesitates. 

Geralt’s fingers curl against his, tugging him back to the present. 

“I don’t-” 

The words die on his tongue as he looks up at Geralt. The sun glints off his eyes, liquid gold again—his face is softened by the light, one eyebrow cocked. 

Jaskier swallows, “Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you.” 

Geralt’s lips twitch and he rolls his eyes, “It’s fine.” 

Not exactly comforting, but Jaskier adjusts his grip and as gentle as he could, heaved himself gracelessly onto Roach behind Geralt. 

“See, fine.” 

Jaskier hums and settles in behind Geralt, hooking his head onto his shoulder to see ahead of them. It strains his neck a bit but is manageable. 

Geralt doesn’t say anything about it and eases Roach back into a trot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lmao I can't drag out angst to save my life


	12. Granola and scars

The thing about riding the horse _with_ Geralt is that... Jaskier doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He’s not used to being so close like this and it shows in the way he makes a point of not wrapping his arms around Geralt to stay steady. 

He manages this by gripping onto the back of the saddle—holding with a death grip in both hands. The problem with _that_ however, is that it pulls his torn shoulder painfully, causing him to wince at every slight bump. 

Jaskier bears with it and focuses on the lavender that he associates with Geralt. It itches his nose in a pleasant way—which is good considering he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it otherwise. 

Roach hits a dip in the path and he grits his teeth, hissing under his breath. Tentatively Jaskier moves his bad arm to curl around Geralt, relieving some of the strain. 

Geralt hums but doesn’t push him away so Jaskier relaxes into it a bit. 

They go on for a while, Roach swaying in a way that has Jaskier struggling to keep balanced with one hand on the saddle and the other at Geralt’s hip. 

Geralt sighs and blindly reaches behind him to pull Jaskier’s other arm around his waist. 

“Easier this way,” he mumbles not looking back. 

Jaskier tenses up but he’s right. The sways are much less apparent now and his shoulder only tinges on particularly rough patches. 

“Thanks,” he says back, keeping his voice low due to the proximity—his chin is still craned on Geralt’s shoulder so that he can point out directions when needed. He moves his head only when his neck starts cramping up, feeling a little flustered about having to rest his cheek against his shoulder to see properly. If it bothers Geralt, he doesn’t say. 

Geralt is the one who stops them for a break, pulling up towards a tree line presumably for Jaskier’s sake. 

Jaskier contemplates his options and uses the tree to brace against to make it easier on himself. His legs aren’t accustomed to riding and it shows in the unsteady bowlegged steps he takes, slowly adjusting to standing. 

They're only a few hours away from where the harpies were and already Jaskier is feeling much less on edge. The tension soothed both by the smell of lavender and physical reminder that Geralt was breathing—that he was alive. 

“Should we camp here?” Geralt asks, startling Jaskier causing him to stumble over a stray rock. 

“Uh...” Jaskier says eloquently, righting his balance and kicking the rock away. He surveys the relatively flat area, framed in closely by trees. It seems safe enough and when he looks, the sun is already dipping towards the horizon. 

“I suppose so,” he settles on—it helps that he really doesn’t want to scramble back onto Roach now that he’s back on the ground. 

Geralt huffs and smiles, shaking his head as he turns towards Roach to unload the bags. 

Jaskier rolls his injured shoulder, testing the waters. It stopped bleeding quite some time ago and when he peeks under the torn strips of his previous shirt, it’s already starting to mend together in places. There’s not much more he could ask for there, so he makes himself as useful as he can by scraping together some kindling for a fire. 

Geralt lays out a bedroll by the pile and pointedly looks from it to Jaskier before nodding his head towards it. Jaskier’s face furrows up and Geralt takes the sticks from his arms before nudging him towards the roll. 

Now that the intentions are as clear as Jaskier could hope for, he sighs and settles down against Geralt’s bedding awkwardly. He crosses his arms and stares unimpressed at Geralt. 

Geralt’s eyes flicker towards Jaskier’s shoulder and he doesn’t say anything, arranging the wood into a neat pile and bringing the important bags over—he sets his lute next to Jaskier on the bedroll. 

Jaskier stares at the instrument intently for a few moments knowing he’d forgotten something. He frowns and notices the appearance of some new scratches on the less than shiny surface. 

Oh. 

“Can you bring me my pack?” Jaskier asks considering Geralt made him sit in the first place. 

Geralt’s eyes flick over and he nods, bringing the bag over without complaint. 

Jaskier hums thankfully and digs around until he finds the right bottle among his things—the linseed oil. He curls his fingers around the bottle and figures this is a good a time as any. 

“Geralt,” he calls before he can back out of it. 

He was carrying the last of the bags, so he sets it down before sitting expectantly next to Jaskier. 

“Here-” Jaskier shoves the bottle at him, pulling his hand back as if it were burned when Geralt has a hold of it. 

“It’s for your lute,” he explains, leaning towards the pile of wood to avoid looking at him. Jaskier lights the fire, the silence drawing out and getting on his nerves now. 

He sneaks a glance over at Geralt, who’s staring at the bottle in his hands. His eyes are widened with surprise and if Jaskier were to guess he’d like to say he looks pleased—his cheeks lightly flushed, the beginnings of a smile. 

Geralt’s face relaxes and he waits for Jaskier to lock eyes with him before he sincerely says his thanks. 

“Can’t have my bard’s lute be scratched to hell and back,” Jaskier mumbles, reaching over to look at the remains of their rations. 

Geralt hums and uncorks the bottle, linseed flooding the air. 

“Are your arms alright?” Jaskier asks after they’ve eaten for the night. He can’t clearly recall what it was like to be injured from before he started walking the Path but he imagines it can’t be pleasant having to heal slowly. 

Geralt looks up from tending his lute and shrugs. 

Jaskier stares at the stains on what were crisp linen wraps. He remembers what it looks like under the bandages and quietly stretches to reach his potion bag. Geralt is coherent enough to be able to put together a better salve than Jaskier had—no risks of accidental poisoning. 

“We should change the wrapping,” he insists setting the bag between them, the bottles inside clinking together noisily. 

Geralt glances into the bag curiously before relenting and peeling the linen from his arms, letting them breathe while he wipes the remains of Jaskier’s herb mixture away. 

Jaskier passes over the roll of linen and takes out the things he knows aren’t poisonous. 

“You should make the salve, I don’t want to accidentally make it worse,” he admits. 

“You should clean yours too,” Geralt tells him, looking through the Jaskier potion ingredients. 

Jaskier doesn’t really need to but he figures it would make Geralt more comfortable if he did. He unwraps his wound, going slow when it clings to his skin—working it away from the worst of the scabs. 

Now that it was uncovered, he could see where the tears had mended into some scars. Already the potions were taking effect, the gouges had closed up into manageable scratches. 

He looks up and notices Geralt watching him, his left arm neatly wrapped. 

Jaskier hums, “Do you want help with that?” 

Geralt wordlessly holds out the linen and offers his right arm. 

It looks much better now that the blood has stopped—granted he can’t really tell what the wounds look like under the thick herbal mix. He grips Geralt’s wrist, holding the bandage in place while he methodically wraps—his hands steadily trailing up to keep it even. 

When he glances up, his hand lingers over Geralt’s inner elbow. He really should have expected how close his face would be to Geralt’s but he’s still taken aback by the breath that brushes against his cheek. Geralt’s looking down at his arm giving Jaskier a clear view of his long eyelashes. 

His heart jumps and he pulls back confused by his reaction. 

“There,” he says lowly, desperately trying to disrupt the tension. 

“Thanks,” Geralt looks up at him, smiling gently. Then he looks at Jaskier’s shoulder, taking in what was left of the damage. His eyebrows furrow a bit, but he didn’t really have anything to compare the wounds to considering he was out of it when Jaskier initially patched it up. 

Jaskier waves it off, “It’ll be fine like this.” 

There’s not much of a point in wasting resources on something that will be cleared up in the morning. 

He frowns but doesn’t push it. 

Jaskier pushes himself up from the bedroll, taking his potion bag and switching it out for his bedroll. He couldn’t exactly just take Geralt’s from him, he needed the rest more than Jaskier did at this point if he wanted his injuries to heal in a timely manner. 

Geralt doesn’t say anything as Jaskier sets up his bedding and settles in for a light sleep, which is especially welcomed after only meditating yesterday. 

The next morning Geralt is back to being up before Jaskier. He took the liberty to tend to a small fire; it’s warmth against Jaskier’s back is what woke him in the first place. 

Jaskier sits up, peeling the blanket away and brushing his bangs from his face. He checks his shoulder, pleased to see only the raised pink of fresh scars. After rolling his shoulder a few times, he decides it’s as good as it’ll get—it only locks up in one spot, easily fixable with training. 

Geralt must have cleared up his bedroll earlier because he’s already piled everything over by Roach, who is chewing on a carrot. 

“Morning,” Jaskier greets, lazily pulling himself from his comfortable bed to put it away. They’ve got to get going if Jaskier wants to make any progress at all today. 

Geralt hums and tosses a bag of granola at him. Jaskier glares as it drops by his feet but it holds no heat behind it. 

“Couldn’t have waited five more minutes?” he asks mildly annoyed as he finishes up securing his bedroll. 

He shrugs but there’s definitely the hint of a smirk there. 

Jaskier rolls his eyes and picks the granola up, dusting the dirt from the bag. He chews the granola thoughtfully, no longer able to bother keeping up the act of being annoyed. 

“Did you eat already?” Jaskier asks holding the granola in one hand as he uses the other to carry his bedroll over to the pile next to Roach. 

“Yeah,” Geralt says, which Jaskier appreciates since he’s not looking over to catch a non-verbal response. 

“We can head out when you’re ready then,” he says walking back to join Geralt by the dwindling fire. 

“Are you sure?” 

“I can walk and eat granola at the same time,” Jaskier assures teasingly. 

Geralt’s eyes trail off to Jaskier’s shoulder, his mouth twisting into a frown. 

“It’s fine,” he says, only a little fond. Jaskier undoes the top buttons to pull his shirt to the side, displaying the new scar tissue for Geralt to scrutinize. 

Geralt gets up and walks over to examine them closer. His hand hovers awkwardly above the scars, looking at Jaskier for permission. Jaskier nods and he pokes at the raised flesh curiously, almost as if he expected them to give way and start bleeding again. Once he’s satisfied with his assessment, he grunts and moves away to tend to Roach. 

“If you’re sure,” he says as he walks, not looking back as he goes. 

Jaskier fumbles buttoning his shirt back up and ends up tearing the top one off. He stares blankly at the button in his hand, wondering why his hands are trembling. 

Frowning he brushes the incident off, pocketing the button and eating another handful of granola.


End file.
